


My Own Man

by getclever (orphan_account)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, batman: white knight - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/getclever
Summary: White Knight was a terrible comic with a terrible take on Jason but I tried to figure out how to write it in a good way. Might expand into a short three or four chapter fic depending on interest level."I'm my own man! Me, Jason Todd!" -- Batman #408





	1. marrow knowing orphan what can i bring?

The switchblade pressed against his skin. Not enough to kill him. The jugular was deeper, more to the side. But it still hurt. And everything smelled of salty sweat and blood and the musk of hyena fur. It tasted like copper, like fear, like the tears running down his cheeks.

That lilting voice whispered again, running hands through the boy's hair, pulling his head upright. Exposing his neck.

The blood pulsed faster, underneath the skin, underneath the knife.

Jason Todd sobbed.

Joker released his hair and his head fell forward. Again, the knife pressed against his neck. Pinching, biting pressure as it worked it's way through the first few layers of skin.

And Jason's first thoughts were: _so let it._

But if he _was_ going to die, he was going to die with one last spit in the enemy's eye. In Batman's eye. The man who raised him, who trained him, and now just left him to die.

He wasn't coming. And Joker was laughing. But the clown was also moaning, which was infintely more unsettling than the laughing.

“Dad.” _Robin_ finally choked out, through a sob.

“Ah, so he's your _dad_ , eh birdy? But what's his name? Come on. It's not like you have anything left to lose. Harley's not here to save you this time. So, what are your last words gonna be, scout?”

He tried one last time to fight, to push himself away. But his left arm was broken, his right wrist was shattered, his legs were numb from being tied up. His own body felt like a cage, betraying him in it's fragility.

He wasn't going to survive.

“I know you're bleeding out but come on, kiddo. You can surely think of something for your dying breath. I'll pass it on to the old man for you. To your, what is it? Dad? You don't want to just die quietly do you? Do not go gentle etc, etc?”

Jason Todd clenched his fists, or as much as he could with his fingers shaking and broken. He sobbed again, and the ropes cut into his chest, even through his armor. Joker wanted Batman's name. He was just a pawn. A pawn to bait Batman out of hiding, the one who knew who Batman was. He was never going to be a hero of his own.

He was always just going to be bait.

But if he gave Joker Bruce's name, it would end it. End this suffering. Bruce would be furious. But maybe he would understand. Maybe he would do the same for Jason. (Probably not. Definitely not. Jason, Robin, was on his own here. Bruce wasn't coming.)

“I wish I had never met Bruce Wayne.”

Joker was silent for a few moments. The knife was still pressed against his skin. Again, Jason was ashamed at how badly he just wanted it to be over.

"Bruce Wayne." Joker said it as a whisper, like he was tasting the words, considering their meaning. Their sounds. Their emotions. _"Bruce Wayne."_ He said it again, and it sounded darker and with a heavier breath.

Everything hurt, both physically and emotionally. Just let it be over. Just end it.

It was understandable, wasn't it? He was alone, tortured, afraid, he was a _child_.

And still the knife never came. Never dug into his neck, leaving him choking on his own blood as it dripped into his lungs.

Instead the knife sliced through his cords. Jason toppled forward from the sudden slack, rolling out of the chair. He caught himself, trying to bite through the pain in his arms. Ready to attack if he needed to.

Maybe he could make it out of this. Maybe he could.

“Go.” Joker pointed to the stairwell, to the door. The expression on his face was terrifying, or moreso than normal. It looked like his eyes were almost rolling back in his head, the smile on his face widening. "But before you do." He loomed over Jason, crouching down with a knee against the boy's stomach. His breath was acidic, like a diluted form of his gas. Jason winced and closed his eyes, turning his face away. He cried again. He _was_ going to die. He was going to _die_. 

Joker caressed his cheek, patting it like a father soothing a child. "Remember what Uncle Joker taught you: That Batman isn't here to save you. _Bruce Wayne_ isn't here to save you. He left you here, with me. Do you really want to go back to him? To that? He might even try to finish the job. You're a failure, and he failed you. You're both failures when it comes to saving people. Now, go run along. And give Bruce Wayne a wide berth. He'll think you're dead, and you'll be moving on. Finito! Done! Living your own life! Won't that just be the _best_ sort of revenge?"

Joker finally stood up, brushing off the pinstripe slacks. Jason slowly tried to move to a sitting position and Joker nodded fervently in approval. It make his stomach churn. Another sob made his breath hiccup. Joker simply smiled at him, egging him on with small nods and clicks of his tongue.

It felt like it took a full five minutes just to stand up, much less hobble around.

Before Joker could change his mind, Jason Todd half crawled and half ran up the stairs, shouldering the door open.

He did try, he tried to call Bruce. But the Batman was working a case, and he didn't answer. Didn't realize how badly his _Robin_ was hurt.

He limped through the building, towards the door to the outside. To freedom. Or a trap. Most likely a trap.

He tried to call again. Bruce answered only to hang up.

Walking helped get the circulation back in his legs. At least he could walk, but his entire upper half had multiple broken bones. Possibly broken rips. He moved slowly, breathing carefully as he pulled the door open.

The sunlight burned his eyes. Too used to the darkness. He tried to call again.

“Robin, I'm busy. Clayface. Call A.”

Joker would follow him home if he went back to the manor. Couldn't risk Alfred getting hurt. He could just stay away for a while. He had plenty of his old haunts that he knew how to get to. Even as in pain as he was.

Maybe he could stay away for even longer. To sort out his thoughts, what Joker had told him. To give Bruce time to cool off after learning that Jason had betrayed him. He had done it with Willis before. Hide away until the other's anger finally sapped out. Better than being present and making yourself a target. Not that Bruce would hurt him, but, in a way he already had.

He had been too busy on a case. Had hung up the phone. Said to call Alfred. But Jason wouldn't risk Joker getting to Alfred.

He made one final call. 

"Alfred. Batman isn't picking up."

"Robin, are you alright?"

"Joker is going to come for you. M--maybe go to lockdown."

"Robin--" Alfred had another of his coughing fits and Jason was shaking again. Picturing Joker, and Alfred defenseless. "What's going on? Give me a full report."

Jason clutched at the communicator, his fingers bloody and slippery and twitching in pain. "I told Joker. I didn't know what else to do. He--" _He beat me. And I was weak. I betrayed you._ Another sob escaped. "I told him about Jason Todd, and Bruce Wayne. And he will probably come for the mansion. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _Fuck_!"

Alfred was frantic, asking him if he was hurt, telling him that he would send a batmobile to pick him up. But Jason let his arm fall away from his face. The communicator clicked shut, hanging up on Alfred.

Everything felt numb. Empty. Pointless. Jason fell down into the grass, it smelled like earth and warmth and life. At least there was life. His suddenly felt pointless.

He had stared death in the face and his father hadn't come for him. And he had given up Batman's identity to his worst villain. Everything was just empty and spinning. Both going too fast and too slow. And it was hard to breathe.

Batman was on a case. He was focused. Didn't want to be bothered.

Robin wouldn't bother him, then.

Jason Todd picked himself up off of the ground and limped towards a nearby car. He dropped his communicator in the dumpster, as well as his cape and mask.

The car started smoothly and the boy let the AC blow on his face for a few moments. It helped him clear his head somewhat. He pulled a coat from the backseat, slipping it on to hide his wounds.

He could survive on his own. He had done it before, long before Bruce. And Bruce had taught him extra skills that he could use. The possibilities suddenly seemed _endless_. There was a bubble of hope in his chest. Not a vigilante, or maybe on the side. But not everything. He could go to school, go to college. Have an actual career on top of saving people. Or his job could be saving people. Hospital work, med school. First he would have to pass high school, or get a GED, and then get into college but-- he could do it. He was trained by Batman.

And now he was his own man.

 


	2. oh it's nothing, he already took everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No editing because this story has a lower priority than my other works, but it's still hella fun to write. Enjoy Jason's new friend, Dylan.

Jason wiped the sweat off of his brow with a leather-gloved hand. He flipped his visor back down over his face and clicked the striker to re-fire his arc. He was here, in the bowls of Wayne Industries, working on a military transport that was obviously going to be retrofitted into a batmobile. How Bruce kept his secret when he was working this closely with the public building his weapons, Jason had no idea. It was almost laughable.

Yes, working under Bruce's company was dumb. But cars were what he knew, and he knew them well. And it helped him save up for college. He had gotten used to living at the manor, now after a year of sleeping on the streets once again, he was determined not to make a second year out of it if he had an honest wage.

The break bell buzzed and Jason let the gas die down, the flame turning off with it. He set the mig welder down, taking the hood off and stretching his back and shoulders out.

He walked into the break room as Allan Workman. Shitty coffee, an even shittier snack from the vending machine. Some courtroom drama blaring in the background. It was an odd choice, but he had gotten used to the coworkers flipping through channels.

Except for once, the shitty courtroom drama stayed on. Some lawyer babbling in the background about Arkham Asylum and Batman.

Jason turned around, about to stand up and change the channel himself. He froze halfway, deciding to sit down and watch.

“My name was Joker. The hair, the laughter, the makeup. The police had never seen anything like it.” Jason furrowed his brow. Bruce had done it. Instead of just tossing the Joker in Arkham, Joker was finally standing trial. Good. It's what the bastard deserved. With all the murders he had committed, there's no way he was getting out of death row.

Jason bit into his candy bar, ready to watch this play out. Whatever poor pro-bono lawyer was having to help Joker stand trial was in for an adventure.

“They fudged the paperwork just so they could call me a supercriminal.” Well, if the shoe fucking fits.

Joker continued as Jason went to grab a soda. Strange, how he was keeping such an even and level voice. Must be part of his ploy for the audience, for his plea. It wasn't as if he wasn't known to put on a role when it suited his plans.

“I may have put on the eyeliner, but Arkham Asylum created Joker” Jason shook his head, chugging the drink and trying not to think about it. About the knife against his neck.

The bell rang again and some of the men began shuffling out. A few walking backwards, trying to catch a few more glimpses of Joker on the witness stand. After a while, the only other one left in the room was Dylan Nisenson.

The older man with the handlebar mustache and silver hair had taken him under his wing, showing him around after he had first gotten the job. Talking with him after work, often the only one to invite him along when the gang went drinking together. Almost reminded him of Jim, but with better jokes and a curlier mustache.

Dylan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Allan. Ya in there?” Jason finally snapped out of his own head, blinking.

“What?” Jason looked at the can crushed in his hands. The leather gloves were going to play hell on the fresh cuts to his palm. Shit.

“Break's over. We gotta get back.”

“I-- I know. I don't want to. I want to see this play out.”

“I don't want you to get in trouble, kid. Come on. We can watch it online later.”

“No!” Jason pushed Dylan's hand off of him. “I need to watch this. It's-- it's personal.” He pulled down his jumpsuit's collar, showing off the scar on his neck. “The issue I have with m'shoulder? I got in between Bats and Joker once. Almost died.”

“If it's somethin' that traumatic, then you shouldn't do it t'yourself. And, not t'discount yer trauma, but we've all been through hell because of him. But we also all need a paycheck. The jury won't decide right away anyway. Even if it is unanimous. Which it will be. I don't trust those meds they got him on--”

“Medication? Why are they giving Joker medication?”

“Didn't see the news a few weeks ago? Batman shoved a ton of meds down Joker's throat.”

Jason nodded. It had been one of the most beautiful things that Jason had ever seen, honestly. Joker choking, face turning purple. The blisters on his face bubbling. Jason had even pretending that half the reason Bruce had finally done it was because of Jason's supposed death.

Dylan continued. “Turns out some of 'em worked. At least a bit. They say he's cured now. It was just mental illness. Not him just being crazy as all hell. 'Course almost no one is buying it.”

Jason nodded again, slightly numb. The Joker was still droning on in the background. “The doctor's said I'm cured, so let me free--”

Jason slammed the door to the break room and pulled his gloves on. Dylan patted him on the back and laughed. “It'll be okay, son. They're going to strap him down and kill him. Pump him full of shit even more toxic than whatever they got him on.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jason believed it. “Thanks, pops.” He grinned, and he saw Dylan beaming with pride as he slid his visor on. “We can meet at my place for drinks while we hear the report tonight.”

“It'll be a real celebration.” Dylan nodded, starting his own welder up.

* * *

 

It was not a celebration. Not in the least. Jason threw a beer bottle at the TV. A scream ripped through his throat, shaking the walls. They were letting him **_go_**? They were letting him go?

He stood up, wanting to punch something, anything. Smash the windows, punch holes in the walls. Willis' blood pulsed through him, anger with a need for a _physical_ outlet.

Dylan grabbed his shoulders, pressing him into a bear hug to keep him from lashing out. “Shhh. It's okay, son.” He chuckled a bit, a rumble in his chest. “Ya need your rent deposit back, right? Don't go breaking anything else. Joker's not worth it anyway.” He patted the boy on the head, ignoring the weak and desperate punches that Jason was trying to give with the limited mobility. “Stop it, Alan. I'm too old to be dealing with bruises and 'm too drunk t'fight you like you want.” He half-tossed the boy onto the couch, sitting next to him. Jason tried to get back up but Dylan threw an arm out, catching him. “Yer drunk. Just settle down. Tell me what's got you so worked up.” Jason pointed to his neck and Dylan shook his head. “No lies. What's got ya so worked up?”

“Joker tortured me. H—he told me that-- that he wanted t'know who Batman was.” Jason finally sunk back down on the couch, leaning his head on the armrest and placing a hand over his eyes.

The old man nodded. “Why'd he do that?” Not pressing. Just caring. Far cry from how Bruce would have handled it.

“I—I was--” Fuck, he had already told Joker. What did it matter? “I was Robin.” He hiccuped, screaming again, but more softly this time. “I was R— _Robin_. And Batman was m'dad. I tried calling Bruce to come save me. But he didn't pick up the line. So I let him thi—think I was dead.” He pressed his fists against his eyes, curling up into a ball. He nearly fell off the couch but Dylan caught him and pulled him into another bear hug. This time, it was less out of a need to keep him from lashing out. This time, it was a comforting gesture.

“If I knew how, I'd kill him myself.” And Jason wasn't sure if he was referring to Joker or Bruce, but it didn't matter. It still helped him feel safe. Safer than he had in two years.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi to me on tumblr @ getclever !


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